


Under an Unforgiving Sky

by rbreea



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Blood and Violence, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29774742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rbreea/pseuds/rbreea
Summary: Feyre gave a false name, now an innocent girl must suffer the consequences. But what if, through her own trials and suffering Under the Mountain, that girl survived?Follow the horrific events of Feyre's trials-from Clare Beddor’s point of view.
Relationships: Feyre Archeron & Rhysand, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Feyre Archeron/Tamlin, Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

### Prologue

#### The Spring Court Manor, 3 days before the 7 x 7 years are up~

#### Feyre~

The High Lord of the Night Court ran a finger along the back of my chair—a casual gesture. But then he noticed my half-eaten plate of food sitting right before him. 

"Where's your guest?" Rhysand asked.

"I sent them off when I sensed your arrival," Tamlin lied coolly. Lucien subtly pressed me harder into the wall. The metallic scent of magic strengthened, and it took me a moment to realize that Rhysand was doing something. A flicker of something crossed his face as he whipped around to face Lucien. His eyes met mine, and I realized he had used his magic to tear down Tamlin's glamour over me. 

"You _dare_ glamour me?" he growled, his violet eyes burning into mine. Lucien just pressed against me in a feeble attempt to keep me protected. 

Rhysand's face became a mask of calm fury as he stared and stared at me. "I remember you," he purred and turned to Tamlin. "Who, pray tell, is your guest?"

"My betrothed," Lucien answered without hesitation. 

"Oh?" Rhysand said, stalking towards us. The sunlight, I noticed, didn't gleam on the metallic threads of his tunic, as if it balked from the darkness pulsing from him. "I knew you liked to stoop low with your lovers, Lucien, but I never thought you'd actually dabble with mortal trash." Lucien was trembling with rage. Or possibly it was just fear. I couldn't tell.

Tamlin still hadn't moved from his seat at the table, but it was him who spoke up next. "Leave, Rhys," he commanded, his claws slipping out from his hands. He made no move to approach Rhysand, despite Rhysand continuing to approach Lucien and myself. 

Rhysand reached us and brushed Lucien aside as if he were a curtain.

There was nothing between us now, and the air was sharp and cold. But Tamlin remained where he was, and Lucien didn't so much as blink as Rhysand, with horrific gentleness, pried the knife I had grabbed from the table from my hands and sent it scattering across the room.

"That won't do you any good, anyway," Rhysand said to me. "If you were wise, you would be screaming and running from this place, from these people. It's a wonder that you're still here, actually." My confusion must have been written across my face, for Rhysand laughed loudly. "Oh, she doesn't know, does she?"

I trembled, unable to find words or courage.

"You have seconds, Rhys," Tamlin warned. "Seconds to get out."

"If I were you, I wouldn't speak to me like that."

Against my volition, my body straightened, every muscle going taut, my bones straining. Magic, but deeper than that. Power that seized everything inside of me and took control. I couldn't move. An invisible talon-tipped hand scraped against my mind. One push, one swipe of those mental claws, and I would cease to exist. 

Tamlin stood now, but remained across the room. "Let her go. Now."

Had I retained any semblance of control over my body, I might have vomited.

"Amarantha will enjoy breaking you, human," Rhysand murmured. "Almost," he said turning to Tamlin. "as much as she will enjoy watching you as she shatters her bit by bit."

Tamlin was frozen, his arms—his claws—hanging limply at his sides. "Please" was all that he said. 

"Please what?" Rhysand said—gently, coaxingly. 

"Please don't tell Amarantha about her. I beg of you."

"And why not? As her whore," he shot a glare at Lucien who was slowly creeping along the wall to get back to my side, "I should tell her everything."

"Please," Tamlin's voice was strained.

Rhysand pointed to the ground and smiled a vicious smile. "Beg."

Tamlin stood frozen for a few moments, watching his face. Then he dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead to the floor. "Please," he said again.

I could've wept at the sight of my High Lord being forced to bow to someone, being put so low. 

"You too, fox-boy," the High Lord said.

Lucien sank to his knees and pressed his head to the floor, a mirror image of Tamlin. I wished more than anything in that moment to have a weapon, my dinner knife even, to kill him with.

Rhysand smirked as Tamlin raised his head and cautiously got to his feet. Lucien heard the movement and raised his head from the floor, but stayed on his knees. He was in between me and Rhysand, and probably saw this as the best place to be at the moment. 

Rhysand ran his eyes over me. "What's your name, love?"

Giving him my name would only lead to more trouble. He would just steal my name from my mind if I hesitated for too long though. He had insinuated when he made them beg, that he wouldn't tell Amarantha about me. Hadn't he? Keeping as steady of a tone as I could, I blurted the first name that came to my mind; a girl from the wealthier part of our village, a friend of my sister's whom I had never once spoken to and whose face I could not recall.  
"Clare Beddor."

Rhysand turned back to Tamlin. "Well, this is going to be the most fun I've had in ages. I look forward to seeing the three of you Under the Mountain." 

What he said next, however, made my heart begin to race in regret. 

"I'll give Amarantha your regards, Clare."

And with one final burning look at me, the High Lord of the Night Court vanished into nothing, leaving us alone in a horrible, trembling silence.

What have I done?


	2. Chapter 2

A scream echoes through the house and my eyes fly open.

I bolt upright in bed, scanning my room. But the scream came from outside. Down the hall.

Another scream echoes through the house; my mother's. That sets me in motion. I only faintly register the smell of smoke as I run down the hall, not bothering to cover up my thin night dress. I run past my brother's room, then my parent's, and I skid to a halt when I see what is happening.

The three of them. On the floor. Bright yellow-orange flames covering their bodies. I'm too shocked to register that the flames are only burning on them, and not anywhere else in the room. Later, when I would look back and remember this moment, I would be able to pinpoint the exact moment I realized I was doomed.

A scream tears from my own throat, and I rush towards the kitchen. I need water. 

I bolt through the door and once again freeze. My hand flies to my mouth as tears begin flowing freely from my eyes. On the floor of the kitchen, burnt and blackened, lay our two house-maids. Dead. Ashes.

Nails dig into my shoulder and yank me backwards. I stumble and fall to the floor, before being grabbed by a tall figure and pulled back towards my still alive, still burning family. A strong shove sends me falling to the ground in front of my brother. Our eyes meet, and he whimpers in pain. I try to move to him, to hold him, help him. I would burn with him if nothing else. But a sharp, metallic scent fills my nose, and I suddenly can't move. 

Magic. 

A dark face comes in front of mine, and my eyes meet with unnaturally lemon-yellow ones. They sneer, and I see sharp canine fangs. They turn to gaze upon my burning parents, and I see the sharp pointed ears, hidden behind long onyx hair. This man is High Fae. 

A shrill, bone chilling voice breaks through the crackling fire that fills my ears. I still can't move from my position, so the owner of the voice bends down to enter my line of sight.

What I see terrifies me more than anything that has already happened tonight.

Empty black eyes and a face that looks like bone. A horrific pair of wings are stretched out behind it, and it's long, skeletal fingers reach out to caress my cheek. "Such a pretty young killer," it says, it's voice like knives carving into my skin with every word.

The invisible bonds holding me loosen, and another sob bursts from my mouth. The floorboards creak behind me and I whirl around. The tears flow harder when I see them.

Standing all along the wall, crowded together, watching, are more faeries. Some made of bone, some made of flesh, some of strange textures and substances I can't name, and even a couple more High Fae like the yellow-eyed man who had grabbed me. My home is filled with the unholy creatures. 

As I stare at them, screaming and crying, they begin to murmur. Among some it is:

_This is her?_

_This is the girl who slayed the sentry?_

_This is who lived with the High Lord undetected?_

_This can't be her...._

Among others it is:

_You'll get what's coming to you...._

_Murderer..._

_Killer...._

  
Their words only confuse me more. A High Lord? Killed.... what, exactly? What is happening?

The yellow-eyed man stalks forward and grabs me, pulling me up off the floor and over his shoulder. 

As he follows the group of faeries out the door I register two things: the first being my family, no longer alive, but reduced to charred skin and ashes on the hard floor. Left to lay there like the dying embers in a fireplace. My brother's glazed eyes, still open, stare straight at me as the man walks towards the door. The second thing I see is the rest of the house exploding in bright blue and orange and yellow flames the moment he steps onto the dirt path outside our house. 

As he walks with me over his shoulder, my burning home grows further and further away. The dark starless sky falls over me like a veil. Like a distant melody, the flames seem to sway and crescendo, and I want nothing more than to live my life all over again; to begin again. I wish and pray to whatever forgotten gods are listening, to give me a second chance. And as I watch the roof cave in, with tears flowing down my face, screams ripping out of my throat and echoing through the silent village, I hear the same shrill voice that belongs to the bone-creature sneer, "She's going to regret killing that wolf."

~~~

The yellow-eyed man throws me down on a cold stone floor, violently snapping me back into consciousness. Some time after the ruins of my home had left my line of sight, the sharp sting of magic had infiltrated my nose. I had drifted off into a deep sleep filled with my brother's laughter. My parent's dancing in the kitchen to music that only the two of them could hear. The four of us, sitting together around the dinner table, happy.

Whispering and mumbling from all around me pulls me from my thoughts, and I remember. They're dead. My family...

"Ah!" a woman's voice exclaims. "The party has returned, at last." 

I turn to look at the group of faeries that had been standing in my home what felt like mere moments ago, but find instead, an endless sea of them. All watching me.

"Well, Rhysand?" Her cold, sharp voice cuts through the air like a knife, and everyone falls silent. "Is it her?"

I turn around and my gaze meets with hers. Her stony black eyes glare daggers at me, and her hair shines so brightly in the dim light it almost looks like fire. Like the fire that had—

I clutch my stomach and try to stop myself from vomiting all over the cold stone.

Near-silent footsteps echo in the quiet cavernous room—a throne room, I'm assuming. The High Fae woman before me is sitting on a stone throne. A figure kneels in front of me and grabs my chin harshly, pulling my face up to stare directly into his. Unlike the lemon-colored eyes of the other man, his eyes are a deep blue-violet. Darkness seems to be radiating off of him, pouring out of his very pores, and blocking out the surrounding crowd. A flash of something crosses his face, but I don't have time to see what it is before he hides it with a bored expression.

The urge to vomit returns and I try to shuffle away from the man in front of me. He lets my chin go, and stands, turning to face the woman on the throne. "It's her."

  
~~~

#### Rhysand~

Kylen throws the girl down on the ground and she wakes up immediately. I look away from her for a moment to follow the yellow-eyed male as he stalks back over to stand next to Helion: High Lord of the Day Court. I notice Helion glance at his right-hand with a grimace. The prick had volunteered to collect Clare as a way to gain Amarantha’s favor. Helion, it seems, didn’t approve.

I force myself to look at her, to see her face, and I feel a slight bit of relief. It's not her. It's not her. She gave me this girls name instead of her own. I can't tell if I'm more relieved that it's not her or more guilty for what will happen to this innocent girl because of me. She clutches a hand to her stomach, and looks around with frantic eyes. Her pale skin and thin frame is fairly similar to _hers_ , but that's about where the similarities end. Her hair, mid-length and dark, versus the long golden-brown hair _she_ had. Her eyes, pale green and watery from her tears, so strikingly different from the sharp, pale, blue-gray of _her_ eyes.

"Well, Rhysand?" Amarantha's voice cuts through my thoughts, and I turn to her, keeping a neutral expression on my face. "Is it her?" 

I turn back to look at the girl. Clare Beddor. I need her to see that I'm sorry. I need her to understand that I don't want to hurt her. 

I need her to see that I don't have a choice. 

I kneel down in front of her, and grab her face, pulling it up to look into my eyes. She stares in fear, but I see a flash of confusion as I let the hold on my darkness loosen a little bit and simultaneously let my neutral expression slip ever so slightly. I need her to trust me, even just a little bit. It's the only way I can help her.

The fear returns, and she starts scooting herself backwards, away from me. I stand up and turn to face Amarantha again. 

I say, "It's her," and I know that this is something I will never forgive myself for.


	3. Chapter 3

"It's her."

The words, two simple words, echo throughout the chamber. 

It's her, I think. It's... who? He can't mean me. I'm no one, not to these faeries and fae people. 

Before I can protest that, No! I'm not who you want! It's not me, please, she smiles. 

A cold, cunning, lazy, smile. "Cla-ruh" She says, drawing out my name into two syllables, as if she is testing the way it sounds on her tongue. "Clare," she says.

"Please," I whisper. It's all that will come out. 

She just smiles wider. "I feel like introductions are in order, Clare," she cocks her head to the side as she says my name a third time. "I know who you are, but you probably haven't heard much of me. No doubt Tamlin tried to shield you from me however he could."

Now the words flow more easily, as I stammer out piece by piece, I know no Tamlin, Please, I'm not who you are looking for.

She just clicks her tongue at the mess of words stumbling their way out of my mouth. "Now my dear, there's no need for that. You'll see your darling High Lord soon enough."

"Please, please, please," I begin whispering over and over again. "Please."

"How old are you, Clare?" Is all she says.

A broken sob tears from my throat.

She just sighs and turns away from me, leaving me feeling utterly broken, as if her gaze had actually been carving into my skin, burning into my bones, cutting me to pieces. She nods to someone, and I follow her gaze to find the terrifying creature of bone smiling wickedly. It stalks towards me as I begin scrambling away, trying desperately to put any sort of distance between myself and the monster. My eyes find violet ones, and I silently beg him to help me. Beg for anyone to help me. But as the first blow of the creature's bony fist strikes my face, I let the fear and pain drown my thoughts. My head connects with the stone floor, and the world fades to black.

~~~

I wake up, and it's dark. I feel bits of pain seep in slowly as I regain my consciousness. It starts in my head, spreading down to my back and my abdomen, then my legs and arms and feet, everything is burning, everything hurts—

I cough suddenly and harshly, red specks of blood flicking and flowing from my throat onto the stone. I look up, taking in the four walls of similar stone that now surround me. I'm in a cell. The silence is deafening in my ears, in my head, almost making me feel as though I've gone completely deaf. It doesn't last long.

The door is wrenched open by someone, two someones, and I find myself dangling between their tight grips on my arms. I struggle to get free, but they just snicker at my attempts. They drag me through winding tunnels and halls, up stairs, down other stairs, up, left, right, down, left again, until it feels like we've been traveling in circles. 

Much to my dismay, they throw me down on the harsh stone right in front of Her. I try to push myself up, but the pain is too much. So I lie still and keep my gaze on the stone in front of me. 

"Clare," she says in such a way that makes me shudder, as if she is dragging invisible claws across my skin. "Look who's decided to join us."

When I don't raise my head, I hear her snap. Rough hands are suddenly grabbing me by the throat and hauling me upwards. I choke and struggle to breathe as the hands tighten. My eyes meet with hers first, black and unfeeling, her hair brighter than when last I saw, flowing around her shoulders like a living flame. She smirks at me. 

I look to her side and see Rhysand, who is still surrounded by that air of darkness. I throw every plead I can muster out of my mouth to him, hating the way he mirrors her lazy smirk. 

The hands around my throat tighten their grip and cut off my air for a moment, before loosening again. 

She clicks her tongue. "Over here, darling."

I look to her other side, to the man she is gesturing to. I notice first, the golden mask that sits on his face. Then his long blond hair that falls around it. His deep green eyes bore into mine unflinchingly. Is this the High Lord she spoke of? His bored expression and lazy stance only confirm that he is just another person against me. Another person who doesn't care what this woman does to me. Silent and unmoving, he stares at me.

I feel suddenly stripped bare, under all of the piercing gazes, even though I'm still in my nightgown. 

"Oh Tamlin," she croons, leaning towards where he sits and running a hand down his arm. "I expected a better reaction, if I'm being completely honest. I thought you'd like this little surprise of mine."

Tamlin says nothing. Just stares at me. 

Silence fills the room, until she yet again breaks it with a huff. "Fine. We'll play that game. Rhysand. Kylen." She looks over the top of my head at the person holding me. Kylen, apparently. He pulls me over to the ginormous stone wall along the side of the chamber. I look into the sea of unfamiliar faces and silently beg anyone whose eyes meet mine to help me. 

No one does.

My back hits the wall, and Kylen steps back, staring at me, his yellow eyes strangely full of pity. The metallic tang of magic suffocates my senses as an invisible force drags me up the stone. Up and up and up. I feel the back of my nightgown tear on the stone. It drapes over the front of my body like an apron. 

Amarantha barks more commands to Rhysand, whose magic is holding me against the wall, pressing me into it with my arms spread out in a T.

Then she speaks. "Maybe you'll be more willing to tell me about yourself after I leave you up there for the night."

I can do nothing but scream, loud and bloodcurdling, as the invisible force drives a large nail right into my left bicep. The metallic scent fills my nose again, and the world goes dark. 

I wake up seconds later, when another nail is driven into my hand. I feel a pinch, but nothing more. Still, I scream again at the notion of nails being used to pin me up to a wall. Wouldn't anybody?

_Good, that's good._ A smooth, deep voice sounds, and it takes me a moment to realize that only I can hear it; it's in my head, echoing through my mind. 

I begin to struggle against the magic that's holding me in place. Against the two nails that are now holding my left arm against the stone. 

_It's alright,_ the voice says. _Whenever you feel that pinch, I need you to scream. Scream loud, or Amarantha will know I took away your pain._

Mere moments later, that small pinch is in my right arm, and I let out another scream. The woman on the throne, who must be Amarantha, smiles at the sound of my pain.

My mind is a mess of jumbled thoughts, feelings, emotions. Somehow I focus enough to think, _'Who are you?'_

_My name is Rhysand,_ he replies. I look for his face, but my vision blurs and sends sharp pains to my head. They quickly disappear as soft hands seem to caress my mind. It's a small bit of comfort, the best anyone could offer in a moment like this. 

Another pinch, in my right hand now. I scream. 

_It is my fault you're here. I'm sorry. I truly am._

Pinch. Pinch. One nail goes into each of my thighs. I sob now as I scream, not entirely faking it. The terror alone is enough to fuel my screaming. 

_I want to help you, Clare. I only want to help you._

I don't reply, though he can probably hear all of my thought anyways.

Two more nails in my legs. Than—

"Let her go now, Rhysand," she says.

Rhysand's magic, which has been holding me up while he drives the nails into me, vanishes. I feel my limbs rip and tear against the nails as I slide down slightly. But the nails hold. I'm nailed to a wall. 

I vomit.

Amarantha laughs. 

Tamlin stares, unfazed.

Rhysand's voice in my mind speaks again. _I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry._

It doesn't take long for my vision to blur, my mind to fade, my body to give up on any lasting strength and fight. 

Still as I fade away, I can hear his voice like an afterthought. 

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._


End file.
